impulsive writing and honesty

I visited my Godmother today after class. In her studio, she told me how these days she heard about my life from Evan, the Ex of her son. And that she felt rest assured that I was well accompanied. We sometimes bumped into each other in the Starbucks, and I would just hug him, and started writing or drawing. His presence brought me enormous tranquility.

When we first learn a language, we usually started by alphabets. And then grammar, and then perhaps vocabulary.

But I was the other way around. I started by listening to the news, radio, reading classic literature so that I know how good I might be. And then do the reverse engineering. Use the pure French French dictionary. Use the pure pure English Elinglish dictionary. I want to know the originals.

The other day I was seeing my psychiatrist for the first time. I somehow felt that I was educating a young boy how a 30 year old has experienced, somehow more or less extraordinary. And that yes, I was diagnosed impulsive, bipolar, maybe oneday Alzeihmer, you name it. I sat there, watching him writing the medical log annd felt absurd. Oh boy, how could you ever comprehend that, when I was all alone abroad, I was set free by realizign that I am my own hero? How could you know that? How could you say that I am impulsive to tell the truth regardless of the social status of the interlocuter, , when all you knew was that I was raped by my classmate in Germany? Would you hold your experience and keep silent, or would you stand up straight to confront for your own right?

How could you ever comprehend, and thought you could save me by simply giving me medications or mental consultation?

I am my life saver and hero. And if necessary, I will fight by telling the truth until the end. I’d like to impulsively bare honest witness to the world as I have experienced with it. Oh boy, it might take you years to experience or understnad what I meant.